I admit-
I hate poems that start with "I",
which means I also hate this poem.
I mean, there is no "i" in "poem".
There is though, in "poesis" and "meta-
morphosis", just one
I mean, the making of one into many
more I's and i's.
It is not as if I care
about bravely baring the skin or showing some soul,
a sweet tooth for eye candy, and me, me, me...
Besides your self
what is important to the eye is not the you
others see, really. Not fooling anyone in that mask.
I know you smile when others look at you,
but fail to see your eyes,
really,
I see you mocking me, and I do too,
since it was never about you
only I and I hated it.
Photo of Norma Talmadge (c. 1919) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
